


deliver me the love i need

by lover_of_many_things



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Bird AU, F/F, Fluff, I'll update the tags as I go, Mail AU, No Beta, also I know next to nothing about archaeology, archaeology AU, but let's just roll with it, possible angst down the line, this baby can fit so many aus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 20:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30094509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_of_many_things/pseuds/lover_of_many_things
Summary: Harrow is an archaeologist currently writing a proposal for a dig she has dreamt about since she was a child and Gideon is the new mailwoman for her neighborhood who has no business looking as good as she does in the uniform.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, past Harrow/Ianthe
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	deliver me the love i need

**Author's Note:**

> I partially blame the discord for this one, but I hope you all enjoy it! Idk what my update schedule will look like but here we go! Gideon isn't in this chapter too too much because I accidentally came up with a plot so there's a lot of that happening at first.

If there was one thing Harrow loved—it was the dig. Getting out in the field after months and months of preparation and grants and applications and bureaucracy, and finally being able to strike a shovel into the dirt, digging out a site in order to find artifacts to give a glimpse into the lives of humans past. The confirmation that after months of hard work and investigation into an area proved fruitful. She also just liked to get dirty—the feeling of dirt and mud under her fingernails and on the ridges of her fingertips as she gently rubbed the dirt off of a 4th Century BCE piece of pottery. She never tired of the humbling sensation of uncovering a mosaic floor deep under mossy hills, knowing that people exactly like her had once walked there and that eventually her own house’s floor would get buried under history as well—some called her morbid, but she really did find something close to comfort in it. 

Which was exactly why Harrowhark Nonagesimus was slightly miserable at the moment. Instead of going out on the dig that she, Palamedes, and Camilla had been planning for well over a year she was stuck at home writing yet another grant and project proposal. It really was just bad luck that the only available time for this dig was during the acceptance period of proposals to the Canaan Board of Archaeology. Palamedes had offered to stay back to write the proposal but Harrow had refused; it had to be her to write it. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Palamedes, but he lacked the passion for this particular project that Harrow had. 

Ever since she was a young girl Harrow was obsessed with the story of The Locked Tomb—a supposed mythological tomb where a woman who brought death and destruction to the world eons ago was locked away in a slumber to keep the world safe. It was a story she frequently asked her caretaker, Crux, to tell her when she was growing up. She became convinced, even then, that she would be the one to find the tomb, entranced by a woman powerful enough to scare the whole world. 

As she got older, instead of that fascination waning, it became a focal point. She poured herself into studies of history, anthropology, and archaeology—all to find traces of truth in the myth. It had taken her years, but Harrow had finally managed to find threads which she believed wholeheartedly would lead her to finding the entrance of the Tomb. 

For the past three years she had submitted proposals for this project, but every year so far the board had rejected the proposal by saying it was baseless. This past year Harrow had spent many a sleepless night researching to continue to prove them wrong, and now, she had a location she was entirely sure of. In the moors of Scotland—a half-kilometer of land with four proposed sites. 

The proposal had to be perfect, and so Harrow was sitting at home getting her hands dirty only with ink as she wrote notes and corrections in the margin lines of her proposal so far. She hunched over her antique Victorian writing desk, actually perched in her chair so her knees rested against the desk, marking off the stack of paper whenever she came across a mistake or something that could be explained further—she would  _ not _ get rejected again for baselessness. Of course, she could edit on the computer, but Harrow found tactile editing much easier and a better way to jot down her thoughts.

She hadn’t had proper sleep in days—mostly just running on caffeine and spite to finish this first part of the proposal which dealt with the history and evidential reasoning for the dig. She was in her old Evanescence hoodie and black shorts with her favorite black skull covered blanket wrapped over her head and entirely around her body. With her hunched posture over the writing desk, she made quite the imposing silhouette for someone so small, like an old grim reaper tallying the souls she had led across on her last trip. 

She finished writing down her notes and edits on the page before flipping over to the next. She reached for her mug to take a sip of coffee only for her lips and caffeine craving to be met with nothing. She sighed and stepped off of her chair from her perched position, nearly stumbling from the pins and needles that shot down her legs from stretching them out. After a moment to let the sensation pass, she made her way to the kitchen, giving Anastasia a gentle stroke along her back. 

Anastasia was Harrow’s closest companion, easily beating out Palamedes for the position—and she was a bird. A black-masked lovebird with a mostly black and grey coloration, which was uncommon for the species; they normally had a range of different colors on their wings juxtaposing the black of their head that they’re named for. Harrow liked to believe that Anastasia was just goth at heart and that was why they got along so well. 

Anastasia chirped from her perch and flew after Harrow, landing on her blanket covered head as she reached out to grab the coffee pot. Harrow filled up her mug, placed the coffee pot back into its spot, and lifted her now free hand above her head extending her pointer finger out for Anastasia to walk onto. Harrow gave her a kiss and walked back into the living room, coffee and bird in hand.

Aside from the writing desk, her living room was filled with strange décor ranging from Victorian oddities and antiques to varying skulls to Halloween decorations she liked to keep up year round. Harrowhark Nonagesimus knew she had a particular aesthetic and she was more than happy to stick with it. She was proud of her little weird collection, though most people found it macabre to have two fused together sheep skulls as a centerpiece on a coffee table. The neighbors always looked at her strangely whenever they came over to ask her for one thing or another—except the Tridentarii sisters, but that’s a whole other story that Harrow consciously decided to move past. 

Harrow placed her mug down on her desk, prepared to continue her edits for who knows how many more hours against her body’s wishes, when there was a knock at the door. Harrow just looked towards the door-- _a_ _ t this hour? _ —though to be fair, Harrow didn’t actually know what time it was since her phone died hours ago. Going off the light filtering through the window it appeared to be day, though, so it wasn’t actually out of the ordinary. Anastasia chirped and shuffled up and down Harrow’s hand, as if to remind Harrow that she was still there. Harrow walked over and placed Anastasia into her cage.

There was another knock at the door. Harrow rolled her eyes and crossed the living room, opening the door and squinting through the flood of light that suddenly illuminated her. “What?” Harrow subconsciously tightened the blanket around her before her eyes landed on the disturbance. She immediately felt light headed—must’ve been the lack of sleep.

A tall, muscular woman with brown skin and cropped, messy red hair stood on her doorstep. Harrow felt her mouth go dry—dehydration from all the caffeine to be sure—as she took in the woman’s toned arms, tracing the line of muscle to the sleeve of her uniform. Uniform? Harrow quickly gathered visual information: the shoes, the shin high socks, the awkward length blue shorts, the light blue shirt tucked into the shorts with the postal service logo on the breast pocket. Yep, this was her mailman. Mailwoman? She must have been new—not that Harrow had intimate knowledge of the postal workers of her area, but she was pretty sure she’s never seen a red head around in the uniform before. 

“Uh, delivery for Harrowhark Nona...gesimus?”, said the mailwoman, her head bent slightly presumably to read Harrow’s name off the package, though her dark aviators hid where she was looking. Harrow just nodded, still a little affronted, if she was being honest, that someone could pull off a postal service uniform so well.

“Great,” she held out an electronic pad, “just need you to sign here.” Harrow quickly scrawled out her signature and snatched the proffered package from the mail woman’s hands, quickly retreating inside and slamming the door shut before the other woman even finished wishing her a nice day. Harrow leaned against the door, her blanket cocoon finally falling down off her head revealing her dark, messy, flyaway hair. Harrow could feel her heart beating quickly in her chest—a symptom of too much coffee—and took a few calming breaths. 

Finally, she looked down at the package she had been given. “FRAGILE” was stamped along the top along with  _ May Contain Traces of Human Remains _ in the very familiar handwriting of Palamedes Sextus. Harrow groaned at the message and rubbed a hand across her forehead, feeling an oncoming headache.“It was one time.”

Harrow returned to her small desk, moving her proposal aside for the moment and setting the package down. She leaned over to open Anastasia’s cage if she wanted to come out, but she was preoccupied with several of her toys. Harrow took her sword-shaped letter opener and set to cutting through the tape. 

Inside the box there was a folded piece of paper along with several carefully packaged pieces from the site. Harrow scoffed when she saw a little souvenir skull keychain placed right in between a few of the sealed containers within the box. She took it out and placed it on her bookshelf, turning it precisely so the skull faced out toward the living room. Then, she flipped open the piece of paper.

_ Nonagesimus, _

_ Figured you might miss feeling covered in dirt, and I also required some additional opinions on several pieces contained within. Hopefully these reach you in a timely fashion—though I recognize the postal service takes greater caution with the warning I place on these packages. No, I will not stop. _

_ Please look these over and bring them to Abigail as well. Let me know what you both think. Oh, and enjoy the skull. _

_ Palamedes Sextus _

Then scrawled directly underneath.

_ If you aren’t taking care of yourself like an idiot while writing this proposal I will put you under Abigail watch. _

Harrow didn’t even need to read the name to know this threat was written by Cam, and it really was a threat. Abigail took taking care of yourself very seriously and wasn’t above locking Harrow in her room until she was forced to go to sleep—she had done it before and it had cost Harrow precious research time that she couldn’t waste. Harrow also knew that Cam would follow up on said threat—readily. 

Harrow sighed and put the letter aside before looking through the various containers in the box. From quick glances she recognized some pieces of pottery, ceramic, and a coin of some sort. She would look into them further, but Cam’s threat reminded her that she hadn’t slept in...a long time. “A short nap should be acceptable.” She mumbled to herself and placed the containers back carefully and set them under her desk for now. Anastasia chirped at her. 

Harrow reached into Anastasia’s cage and gently rubbed her cheek with the side of her finger. “I know, I apologize for messing with your schedule.” She spoke softly before closing the cage. “I won’t be asleep for long; I just need to rest for a bit” 

Anastasia bit at one of the blocks in her cage, spinning and moving it along a track as Harrow shuffled her way through the living room and up the stairs. She went straight into her room, pausing only for a moment when she walked past a mirror. She really did look like a reaper, which she honestly wasn’t opposed to. The dark bags under her eyes and the sallow look of her cheeks certainly weren’t marks of great health, but they did fit her aesthetic—Harrow could feel Abigail admonishing her for the thought. 

Harrow tossed her blanket and reaper’s robe onto the foot of her bed and plugged in her phone. She climbed in under the covers and curled up in the middle, her wild hair just barely peeking out from the black comforter. She closed her eyes, accepting the call of sleep she had been ignoring for so long when her mind suddenly fixated on an image: aviators, red hair, muscles disappearing under a dorky uniform. Harrow groaned and turned over, urging her mind to fade away or at least pick a better topic to fixate on. She managed to think about some of the edits she decided to make for a few moments before the image appeared in her mind again. It was actually ridiculous; no one was allowed to look good in a postal service uniform, that was just an unstated truth. 

Harrow grabbed her pillow and brought it down on top of her head, hoping to smother the thoughts out of herself, but despite her attempted suffocation, she still fell asleep with red hair and muscles on her mind.

* * *

Admittedly she slept for longer than she planned to and it was night by the time she blinked her eyes open. She reached out to grab her phone, wincing and tossing it away from her when the screen brightness was way too high. Harrow sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grabbing her phone once more--prepared this time for the assault on her sight. She quickly lowered the brightness and saw a couple messages from Abigail checking in on her, one from Palamedes asking if she received a package yet, and one from Ianthe Tridentarius which she didn’t even open. She looked at the time--4:23 AM--and responded to Palamedes--it was well into the morning where he was.

**Harrowhark Nonagesimus**

_ I received your package. That you continue to keep up that joke is inane. I will examine them today with Abigail.  _

**Palamedes Sextus**

_ I’ll stop making the joke when it stops being funny to me, and not a second before.  _

Harrow rolled her eyes and crawled out of bed. If she was going to see Abigail today she definitely needed to shower and not appear like a walking corpse (any more so than her usual appearance). She shed her clothes and climbed into the shower, standing under the warm stream of water with her eyes closed and hair plastered to her face. As usual her mind turned to the proposal and she started thinking of The Locked Tomb--of the mythological warrior who was so dangerous she had to be sealed away. Harrow often pondered over what she had looked like--since accounts varied and were quite sparse.

She normally started with geographical positioning, taking into account where she thought the warrior had been buried and forming an image based around the physical traits typical to that area of Scotland--though just because her tomb was there didn’t necessarily mean that she was from there. Her imaginings differed on a daily basis as she encountered new information or juggled different types of genetics.

Today, however, as she stood in the shower letting the water wash over her the body of the slumbering warrior started to take shape with defined muscles--more defined than usual today, but it made sense since she had been a feared warrior--and short ginger hair. Harrow’s eyes shot open. _Nope_. Absolutely _not_. She was not currently envisioning her new mailwoman as an ancient and feared warrior, because she refused to be doing so. She hurried through the rest of her shower and finished getting ready for the day. 

She made her way to the kitchen, stopping to open Anastasia’s cage, refilling her food and water. Anastasia joined Harrow in the kitchen as she poured her coffee, landing on her shoulder and biting gently at her still drying hair. Harrow glanced at her phone again--it was just after 5 AM, so she still had a few hours to kill before she could go see Abigail at a normal person time. She returned to her desk with Anastasia and coffee in tow, set on getting through more editing. 

Time passed quickly when she edited. When she was really dialed in to her work the only way Harrow could tell the passing time at all was through the sunlight or through Anastasia’s movements around her. Finally, once she had finished her second cup of coffee she checked the time again--8:17 AM--much more reasonable. She finished the page she was working on and then placed Anastasia back in her cage. 

Harrow gathered her things, Palamedes’ box, and a pair of sunglasses and headed out to her car. She didn’t love driving but it was a bit of a necessity for her to get to certain dig sites, and she didn’t want to transport artifacts on the bus. She placed the box carefully in the trunk and got in the driver’s seat right as Coronabeth Tridentarius finished her morning jog and arrived back in front of their door next door. She looked surprised for a moment to see Harrow out and about so early but then smiled and slowly waved her fingers before heading inside. Thankfully that meant Harrow didn’t have to wave back--she could never get a read on Corona. Ianthe—while usually unpleasant, Harrow could at least decipher her intentions. Every action of Ianthe’s had a motivation and an underlying goal, but Harrow had not spent enough time with Corona to figure out if she was the same as her twin.

Harrow sent a quick message to Abigail to let her know she was coming and then set off to Canaan University. The drive was longer than usual because of the morning commute traffic, but soon enough Harrow was parking at her alma mater and carrying Palamedes’ box through campus. She could walk the route in her sleep, so she made it to the office of Abigail Pent--Head of the Anthropology Department. She shifted the box to one arm and knocked deliberately on the door.

A moment later the door was flung open and a warm hand clapped down on her shoulder. “Harrow! How have you been, kid?” Magnus Quinn stood in front of her in his worn tweed jacket with a smile on his face. Harrow raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m rapidly approaching thirty, Magnus, I’m hardly a child anymore.” At this, Magnus slaps the hand not on her shoulder against his chest, over his heart.

“Ow, you had to bring your age into this didn’t you?”

“Dear, just let the poor girl in.” Abigail spoke, amusedly, from her desk as Magnus glanced back over his shoulder. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll let the poor  _ woman _ in, honey.” Magnus moved aside as Harrow walked in, rolling her eyes affectionately.

“You two are as nauseating as ever, I see.” They both smiled at this. 

“We’re delighted to see you too, Harrow, but I have a class that needs to be taught, so I’ll leave you two to your pottery pieces.” Magnus walked over to kiss Abigail goodbye and paused once more before closing the door. “I’ll let Ortus know that you’re here--I’m sure he’d like to pop in and say hi.”

Harrow just gave Magnus a nod and the man smiled and closed the door. “You know he wouldn’t be as much if you visited more often.” Harrow glanced at Abigail who was looking at her, smiling, from her desk. Harrow huffed, but her lips quirked into a small, fond smile.

“Yes, he would.” Harrow walked over to Abigail’s desk and placed the box on it as Abigail laughed.

“You may be right, but you should still visit more often...how is the proposal going?” Harrow chose to focus on the latter part of the sentence as she sat down in one of the chairs across from Abigail’s desk. 

“It’s going well. I’m currently editing through my evidential reasoning, and I’m still on schedule.” Abigail looked Harrow over as she spoke, the caring but calculating eyes that could always catch when Harrow wasn’t taking care of herself as much as she should.

“Glad to hear it. I’m sure you’ll finally get it passed the board this year, just like I’m _sure_ you must be sleeping and eating properly.” Harrow nodded, recognizing the probe for what it was, and then immediately remembered that she forgot to eat anything yet this morning, focused on her coffee and editing. 

“Of course...now,” Harrow said, diverting, “this is what Palamedes sent me from the site. I only did a brief overlook yesterday, so we can both look more thoroughly today.” Harrow set her hand on the top of the box and Abigail stood to open it and bring out varying containers to glance into.

“Wonderful, we can dig right into these--after we go get some breakfast. Come on.” Abigail placed the containers back in the box, rounded her desk, and placed a hand gently on Harrow’s shoulder as she walked past. Harrow had to keep herself from letting out a groan--of course Abigail somehow knew she hadn’t eaten yet. 

Harrow stood, joining Abigail, and they walked to the café on campus that they always went to for coffee and breakfast. Abigail caught Harrow up on what she had been working on recently and Harrow talked more about the dig Pal and Cam were currently on as she tore a croissant apart piece by piece as she ate it. A lull fell in the conversation and Abigail just looked at Harrow while Harrow pretended not to notice by looking at her croissant. Abigail hummed—a sound Harrow was well acquainted with; she always hummed before she spoke on something she was still trying to collect her thoughts on.

“You  _ are _ taking care of yourself, though, right?” Abigail asked gently. Harrow fought down the instinctive bristling at the assumption that she couldn’t take care of herself. Abigail had caught her before at times when she definitely had  _ not _ been. 

“I’m fine, Abigail. Nothing to be worried about.” Harrow ripped off another piece of her croissant and popped it into her mouth.

“Good, and you know if you ever need anything—“

“I know.” Abigail nodded and placed her hand gently over one of Harrow’s with a soft pat. 

“Well,” Abigail spoke as Harrow finished the last piece of the croissant she had left, “now it’s time for some dating and identifying.” She clapped her hands together in excitement and they stood, leaving the coffee shop. 

The campus was more bustling now than it had been when Harrow had arrived earlier--groups of students milling about or rushing to their morning class through the crowds. Harrow did not miss the crowds on campus, though with her stature she had always been able to slip through them pretty nimbly--she just usually preferred knowing about people who had already died than those who were living. 

They returned to Abigail’s office and immediately set to work, taking out the varying containers and looking through their contents. Abigail took to examining the pieces of pottery and the coin as Harrow looked through for other artifacts. She found what was most likely a piece of a comb and several bronze and gold rings. They looked to be imprinted with some type of pattern, but she couldn’t quite make it out.

“Well,” Abigail spoke for the first time since they started examine the containers, “definitely Roman, I’d say 1st or 2nd century—quite fine as well. Whoever owned this was well off.”

Harrow nodded. “I came to the same conclusion...there is some type of insignia or crest that was pressed into these rings, but I’m...uncertain of what it might be.” 

Abigail peered at the ring that Harrow held out toward her and hummed. “It’s not something that I immediately recognize either.” She took a picture of the insignia on her phone. “I’ll look into it.” Harrow nodded and placed the ring back in the container she found it in.

Abigail hesitated a moment before speaking again, “Palamedes would have been able to come to these conclusions by himself. Why send them to us?” 

Harrow rolled her eyes. “I...believe it to be a misguided attempt to include me in the dig.” 

“Ah. Well, he succeeded in getting you to take a break from the proposal as well—I think this was more than misguided.” Abigail smiled as Harrow ignored her and continued to place the containers back in the box. 

“Speaking of, I should be returning to it after telling Palamedes of our findings. Thank you, Abigail.” 

“You know I love looking at these kinds of things. I’ll look further into the ring and let you know...but you better visit us soon or I’m making a house call.” Abigail leaned on her arms against her desk.

“That is...acceptable.” Harrow picked the box up and started toward the door, Abigail following behind her. Abigail grabbed the door for Harrow, holding it open, but Harrow stopped on the threshold. “Tell Ortus that I...regret I missed him.” Abigail tucked a piece of wild hair behind Harrow’s ear and cupped her face for a moment.

“Of course. Now, I’ve got reports to read and a job to do. See you soon, sweetheart.” Abigail did not phrase it as a question and the look she gave Harrow left no room for argument. Harrow had come a long way from the teen she was when she first met Abigail and Magnus, but she still had trouble accepting the tenderness with which they usually spoke to her and interacted with her with. She had never been good at reciprocating the sentiments. Harrow nodded and made the quick journey from Abigail’s office back to her car. 

The drive back to her house was quicker than the drive to the University as the early afternoon traffic was fairly light. She brought the box back inside of her house, placing it carefully next to her desk again. She opened Anastasia’s cage and sat down in her chair, taking out her phone and calling Palamedes. 

He picked up on the third ring. “What did you find?” Harrow fought the urge to scoff.

“Stop playing coy, you know exactly what we found.” Harrow heard him hum in thought from the other side of the line. 

“1st or 2nd century Roman, yes. What did you make of the rings?”

“Abigail is doing further research on the insignia.” Harrow leaned back a bit in her chair.

“I’m glad—I was afraid you might’ve known something I didn’t for once.” Harrow rolled her eyes at the ceiling as Palamedes spoke.

“You must certainly be getting too much sun over there; it’s starting to turn you senile, Sextus—so soon after your prime too, a shame.” Anastasia landed on Harrow’s shoulder and chirped; Harrow pet her gently.

“Please, Harrowhark, as if some sun could stop the greatest archaeologist of our generation.” This time, Harrow did scoff. 

“In your dreams, you—“ Harrow was cut off by a knocking at her front door. “I have more important things to do than discuss your delusions, Palamedes. If you need help with something of actual substance, feel free to notify me.” Harrow hung up the phone before Palamedes could respond, a small smile on her face. Another knock on the door—casual but assured. 

“Apologies, Anastasia.” She placed the bird gently back in her cage. She wasn’t sure who it could be—ginger hair flashed in her mind—she hadn’t ordered anything recently unless someone else had sent her something, which while not unheard of, was exceedingly rare. Especially two days in a row. She just hoped it wasn’t some type of salesman or Jehovah’s Witness—she was not in the mood to be told that she needed to find her salvation, which they usually became convinced upon as soon as they laid eyes on her.

She cracked open her door, and was met with the tall, lean, self-assured frame of Ianthe Tridentarius. _On second thought, maybe some Jehovah’s Witness wouldn’t be the worst thing._ She opened her door a bit more and crossed her arms, leaning against the frame. She watched as Ianthe took in the movements with the usual smug smile she had on her face.

“What do you want?” Harrow said bluntly, not even hiding the bit of disdain that slipped into her tone. Ianthe didn’t seem phased. 

“Polite as ever I see. I’m just here to give you a piece of your mail; it ended up in our mailbox.” Ianthe held out the piece of mail in question—it was junk that she would have immediately thrown away, and she knew Ianthe knew that. “Very sloppy work, but I guess the mail woman  _ is _ new. Probably can’t be helped by someone who looks to be much more brawn than brain.” Ianthe spoke as if this were all an afterthought that she couldn’t be further bothered by.

Harrow reached forward and practically snatched the offered letter from Ianthe’s hand. “You could’ve just stuck it in my mailbox, Tridentarius.”

Ianthe smirked. “And miss the opportunity to see your sunny disposition? Harry, I’d _never_.” Harrow fought the urge to clench her jaw at the nickname. Ianthe reached out and gently dragged her fingers down Harrow’s arm until she could cup her elbow. She stepped forward, towering over Harrow, head dipped to look at her, but Harrow stepped backward into her house. 

“I told you before—that’s done.” Ianthe stepped back, her hands up in surrender, but the same look on her face still present. 

“I can wait for you to finish your proposal, Harry, not to worry.” Ianthe turned and left before Harrow could get another word in. She shut her door, annoyed, and wondered if her mail really did get mixed up or if Ianthe had just grabbed a piece from her mailbox as an excuse to speak to her—not that Ianthe ever  _ needed _ a reason to do anything beyond her wanting to do so.

Harrow should have never agreed to sleeping with Ianthe Tridentarius. Sure, it had been fun and easy with absolutely no chance of catching feelings—at least, that was what Harrow thought. She thought that they hated each other, but they were both very stressed people who could use the outlet every now and then. That’s what they had agreed upon. Harrow thought it was entirely safe since Ianthe was a manipulative, conniving, and selfish person, and there would be no chance or even thought of something more. She did  _ not _ even consider the possibility that Ianthe would develop feelings for her and broke things off as soon as that became apparent—but Ianthe apparently saw things differently.

She dragged her hand down her face and took a deep breath. She tossed the junk letter into the recycling, and went to get back to work.

She was really starting to hate the mail.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all can find me a lover-of-many-things.tumblr.com


End file.
